


if i'm a bird, you're a bird

by iamthemagicks



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Canon, Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, slight notebook thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemagicks/pseuds/iamthemagicks
Summary: A lump catches in his throat as he stares. The dreams of his youth printed in black and white. It's good that someone's bought it, he decides. It's not like he was going to be filling it up with a family anytime soon. It should make someone happy.He turns the page, continues the article. On the second page, there's another picture of the house, this time a little closer, and the renovator standing in front of it, squinting at the camera with a hint of a smile on his face. A grin that Eugene knows, on a face that had started to fade from his memory. That lump in his throat grows, almost choking himMerriell Shelton plans to sell the house to the right buyer. "It's a special house," he says, "it needs the right person."
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22
Collections: Sledgefu Week 2020





	if i'm a bird, you're a bird

Their love had been epic, Eugene thought, something that they write into romance novels and long war movies. Of course, it would never be about two men. Maybe they’d make Eugene into a nurse, or a USO girl, but Snafu would always be the rough soldier whose heart melted at the touch of Eugene’s hand. They call that fate, don't they? When you meet your great love in the middle of a war, on the other side of the world? Who’s looking for love when they’re being shipped off to war anyway? 

But it found Eugene, Snafu, the both of them tangled in their muddy foxhole and ponchos. Eugene had hated Snafu at first (doesn’t that also always happen in the movies?) but as Snafu grew soft around Eugene, he couldn't help but fall the same way. Snafu was a handsome man, Eugene never would have denied that but it was months in the mud and blood before they spoke more than three words to each other, and before Eugene knew that there was a heart buried deep within Snafu's broken chest. He never let it out all at once, of course; he made Eugene have to dig deep for his affections.

Their first kiss had been in that muddy foxhole, Snafu clutching to the collar of Eugene's poncho like he was a lifevest and Snafu was sure to drown. He tasted like stale cigarettes and dirt, a hint of blood on his tongue. Eugene had never been kissed like that before. With someone's whole body pressed against him, someone who wanted to kiss him for more than a few seconds. He would have gladly gone AWOL into the jungle if Snafu had asked. 

But they had Peking instead. For a whole year after the blood and guts. They would quietly sneak into each other's bunks in the middle of the night and lay together, tangled, stuck hard like barnacles. So often, Snafu would doze off against Eugene's chest while Eugene tangled fingers in his hair with one hand while reading a book in the other. They fit together so perfectly, like puzzle pieces, like a crossword.  
Eugene lost his virginity in a seedy motel miles and miles away from the base. They may as well have been staying in a tent, but Eugene didn't care. Not even when Snafu kept apologizing about it. It was the only place I thought we'd be okay, Snafu had said, where no one would know.

It's fine, Eugene promised, kissing Snafu and pulling him closer by the dog tags. 

All wonderfully, terribly, damnably romantic. 

But then, Eugene woke up on a train alone, wandered home by himself, and no longer had love on his shoulder. Snafu was gone without an explanation, a note, a goodbye. Eugene asked the steward and the steward replied that a single Marine unloaded at the New Orleans station, silently. 

At first, Eugene didn't know how to get on with his life. the nightmares of the war, waking up alone. He felt it like a knife in his chest, working its way down into his ribs. His stomach always churned, working up his throat. It was a horrible combination of shell shock and a broken heart that threatened to turn his entire body and soul into stone. 

Late at night, he would wander the house like a ghost, wafting in and out of rooms that were familiar, and yet he couldn't remember. He'd sit in the study and touch everything on the desk, go into the kitchen and trace the countertops, the sink. Everything looked and felt the same. He looked the same on the outside, but inside he was a completely different person. 

It went on like this for weeks, months. Nightmares, sleepless hours, wandering through his own life in a fog. His mother cried, his father worried, his friends and old acquaintances stopped calling. He was becoming a ghost. 

Then, one day, Eugene took himself on a walk into the woods and found some flowers to pick, some birds to watch, and he felt a bit of weight lift from his shoulders. He went the next day, and the next, and started writing about the nature around him. He started sleeping again, he started eating, he even started smiling. His poor, broken heart started beating again, and he thought maybe, just maybe, in the end, he'd be alright. 

-

It's six years after the war and Eugene rides his bike towards his favorite cafe. Post-college, he’s living with his parents until he finds a teaching job. It’s been nice, being back at home. He parks the bike and goes inside for his coffee and breakfast and reads the paper. There’s even a particular spot he likes in the far corner, next to the window that faces the street. He can exist without being noticed.

This morning, he’s almost finished with his egg sandwich when an article in the back of the paper catches his eye. It's the picture, first. He recognizes the house; a fine standing French colonial, sitting atop a hill, overlooking the river. It's somewhere outside of the town proper, surrounded by empty fields and thickets. It had been his dream house, growing up. He always pictured potted plants on the porches, a swing, cats wandering all over the property. It was a place where he could grow old. Where he could sit on that front porch and watch the sun come up, drink sweet tea in the afternoon, see the stars at night. 

A lump catches in his throat as he stares. The dreams of his youth printed in black and white. It's good that someone's bought it, he decides. It's not like he was going to be filling it up with a family anytime soon. It should make someone happy.   
He turns the page, continues the article. On the second page, there's another picture of the house, this time a little closer, and the renovator standing in front of it, squinting at the camera with a hint of a smile on his face. A grin that Eugene knows, on a face that had started to fade from his memory. That lump in his throat grows, almost choking him 

Merriell Shelton plans to sell the house to the right buyer. "It's a special house," he says, "it needs the right person." 

Eugene feels like he's shaking on the inside. He glances around the cafe, expecting everyone to be staring at him, like they know he's losing his mind. But everyone goes about their business, eating breakfast, having polite conversation. He folds the paper, pays, and leaves.   
The rest of his day is spent pacing his bedroom, trying to figure out what to do. Does he call? Does he run up to the door and demand answers? Does he do nothing? His stomach churns all the while as he tries to distract himself with work, chores. He rearranges his bookshelves, he cleans the kitchen until it practically shines, folds his laundry, sets out clothes for the week. None of it makes him feel any better. 

On some quiet nights during the war, Eugene would tell Snafu about the house and how much he loved it. He'd go on and on about what he wanted out of it. A quiet place, just for us, he'd said, passing a cigarette to Snafu.

Snafu snorted. You want me in your dream house, Gene?

Of course. You're always there, when I'm thinkin' about after the war.

It was so quiet that Eugene could hear Snafu swallow and breathe. He leaned over for a kiss and they were done talking for the night.  
How long has Snafu been in his town? How long did he plan on working on that house and not saying a thing? Eugene thinks of breaking a dish out of frustration. All this time, he thought he'd let go of Snafu for good. Sent him away on the wind with a balloon. Snafu never cared enough to write to him, why should Eugene care that he's been working on that house?

That evening at supper, he listens to his mother gossip and drop names of her friends' daughters. "You know, Alma May is thinking of going to college. She's a smart girl, like you, Eugene."

"Hmm," he answers, pushing the food around on his plate. "I read an interesting article today." He finally looks up, catching his parents off guard.

His father leans forward, interested. "Oh?" 

"Do you remember that old house? That one me and Sid and the other fellas used to go playin' around in?"

His mother scowls. "That filthy death trap? They should have torn that down years ago." She shakes her head and cuts her meat.

Eugene takes a large gulp of his wine. "It's funny. An old buddy of mine from the Marines bought it." He huffs in disbelief over it, still. Maybe if he says it out loud, it won’t be true. "He's fixed it up. Gonna sell it."

His father chuckles. "Really? Well isn't that a wonderful coincidence! What friend, did you stay in contact?"

"Shelton," Eugene says. He can't bear the thought of saying Snafu's name out loud yet. "Um, he hadn't."

Edward nudges him in the arm. "Well, you should give him a call. Invite him over, we'll make an evening of it."

"I don't think--"

"Nonsense!" Edward goes on. He throws his attention to his wife. “Won’t that be lovely, Mary? We haven't met any of Eugene's friends from his service. Just Sidney."

There's something off about his mother's face, but Eugene can't place it. She wiggles her nose as she reaches for her glass. "Yes. It'll be lovely." She clicks her tongue before she sips some wine. 

-

Eugene can't sleep. He'd retired to his bedroom pleasantly buzzed, and after his parents went to their room, he drank two cans of beer. All it did was make him moody and [awake]. All this time, he had thought about reuniting with Snafu again. There were a bunch of different ways. They bumped into each other on the street, they met at a church social, Snafu turned up on his front porch, asking forgiveness. Even as the years passed and he started to forget the little things, in the back of his mind, Eugene still hoped.

He lies in bed staring at the water stains on the ceiling, listening to the slow whir of his fan. He's kicked off the sheets and is sprawled out over the mattress like a starfish, a child. So many thoughts meander through his head, he doesn't know what to do with himself.   
A few years after the war, Eugene took himself to a seedier part of the city to see the kind of life that waited for him. Snafu had talked about it; the difficulty of being queer. All the secrets, the underground bars and clubs, living a lie. We could just be pals sharing a place, Eugene had said. No one would have to know. 

Through rumors, Eugene found a bar where he thought other queer men would be. He went in, expecting some sort of den of horrors, but instead found a regular bar, just darker and a little stickier than the others he'd been to. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. A handsome fellow came up to him and they chatted. Eugene didn't know how the exchange was supposed to go, but it ended with the two of them in the dark alley and Eugene getting his cock sucked. 

He did this a few times, returning to the bar for a fling, sometimes with him on his knees instead. But in the end, Snafu was always on his mind, so Eugene stopped going. 

Outside of his window, Eugene hears an owl over the crickets and cicadas. He rolls onto his stomach and presses his face into the pillow, inhaling the scent of his own hair. His chest aches, there's a physical strain in his body. He expects to press his hand against his ribs and for it to disappear into a black hole. Nothing happens. He only finds his own skin, sweaty and cold.

-

About a week later, Eugene's father has to remind him about the house and the proposed supper. "You should call him soon, Gene," Edward says.

Eugene almost chokes on his cereal, but nods. 

The next day, he wakes up with the sun and paces. He goes from one end of the hall to the next, he cleans, he cooks, he does everything he can to avoid the phonebook sitting on the kitchen table. 

A name in the phonebook means that he's been here for at least a year without saying anything. Finally, he flips open the book and sure enough, there it is. M. Shelton. The only one listed, matching the address of the old house. 

"Fuck, fuck," Eugene mutters while dialing. He hopes there's no answer. He hopes that it's a wrong number. A mistake. Maybe that wasn't the Snafu he knew in the picture. It was in black and white, a little fuzzy. The beard wasn't helpful. Maybe-

The phone stops ringing and someone picks up, clears their throat. "Yeah?"

Eugene almost drops the receiver. He clutches it tightly, with both hands, thinking back on the sound of Snafu's voice in his ear, against his skin. Making promises, spouting filthy prose, speaking languages that Eugene didn't know. 

"Anyone there?" he asks, annoyed. 

"Yes," Eugene answers. He swallows. He feels so small, he feels like he's back on the train again in that empty compartment. "Yes. Um. It's me." 

There are a few beats of silence. Eugene doesn't want to say his own name. He doesn't want to explain, he wants Snafu to know him just by those few monosyllabic words. 

"Gene," Snafu answers on an exhale.

"Yeah."

"You saw the paper."

Tears sting his eyes, but Eugene holds it in. He's gotten pretty good at that. "Did you think I wouldn't? That's..." he stops himself. That's my house. He wants to say. Our house. "I still live here."

"I know." Snafu sighs. Eugene can only imagine him on the other end, sitting at a table, smoking, drinking some disgusting coffee. "I didn't...I don't know, I thought it was maybe a pretty good announcement that I was here." There's a grin on his face, Eugene knows.   
Eugene wants to smile back; it's almost...romantic, in a way. It could be. If so much time hadn't passed. If they'd actually had an ending. "I'm in the book," he answers, dumbly.

"I know." Another sigh. "I am too."

Eugene's insides twist and turn and breakfast threatens to make its way up to his throat. "My parents," he says, diving right in. "They...the paper. They want you to come by, since we know each other." The words sputter out like pebbles. 

"Really?"

"I...I told them I knew you. That's all. They're old fashioned Southerners. They want to meet you. Ask you inane questions. Talk about the war." He kicks at his table. "You don't have to come."

Snafu chuckles. "I'd love to meet your parents."

Fuck you. Eugene thinks, but doesn't say it. He chews on his bottom lip. "Tonight," he says. "Clean yourself up."

Now, Snafu laughs. "You didn't like my picture?"

Eugene shrugs. "You look like you just came out of the swamp."

"No worries, Gene. I clean up real nice."

Eugene gives a time, the address, and then hangs up the phone. In the breadth of a phone call, it was almost like no time had passed. The ease of their conversation, how Eugene could anticipate his answers, his actions. What would it be like at dinner?

-

Eugene paced back and forth in his parents' foyer, waiting, his stomach twisting and turning all the while. He couldn't get over the brief phone call, or the fact that he saw Snafu in the paper. Nothing about the situation was right. Of course, he'd been dreaming about seeing Snafu again, but that was one of those far off, distant dreams. Something that would never happen. It was like thinking about home during the war. No one ever thought that they'd make it out of that hell-scape. 

He checks the clock on the wall and then his watch. The minutes tick by slowly. He just wants to get the whole situation over with. He wishes he never read the paper, or told his parents about it. 

"Eugene, you're acting foolish," his mother called from the dining room. "He's not even supposed to be here yet." 

From the kitchen he hears Justina, the cook, finishing up and humming. Justina has been the only one who's treated him like a normal person since coming home. Everyone else walked on eggshells like he was made of glass. He doesn't blame them, not the way that he'd acted. The night terrors, the sleeplessness, his general ire about life. She found him once, sobbing in the bathroom with his father's straight razor pressed to his wrist. She stopped him, cradled him, and never told his parents. 

"Eugene," Mary called again. "Come sit down, you're like a nervous hen."

He grinds his teeth and checks the clock again. "Who's going to get the door?" 

She huffs but accepts his excuse, and he continues to pace. He catches a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. He's showered and shaved and changed clothes at least twice. After all, he was a jilted lover and wanted to make sure that Snafu knew he was doing fine without him.   
The clock strikes the time, playing "Big Ben" after the final chime. And then, there was a knock. 

Eugene stared at the door like a deer caught out in the open. He knew exactly who was waiting. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest, while at the same time punching him in the gut. With a dry throat and sweaty hands, Eugene opened the door.

And there stood Snafu fucking Shelton, on his parents' front porch, looking like something out of Life magazine. He's shaved that burly beard from the picture, and his hair was trimmed to near military-grade, though it was still wild and curled at the ends. He was wearing khaki slacks and a blue shirt, and held flowers in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other.

They stared at one another, awkwardly. Eugene blinked a few times and took a deep breath. "Those for me?" 

Snafu grinned, sly as a fox. "For your momma." 

"That's nice."

"I told you I clean up real good." He winked and Eugene wanted to punch him. 

He stepped aside. "Well, come in." Eugene led Snafu through the foyer and down the hall. "They don't...know."

"Why would they?" Snafu said. 

Eugene shrugged. Maybe in some places, a fella could tell his parents that he was queer, that he had his heartbroken by war-time love. But not in his parents' house, not in this town, or even the state. He didn't know where that would be acceptable. 

"Just...be good," Eugene said. "My father really wanted to meet you." During the war, even though Eugene fell hard, he didn't fall fast. Snafu was hard to like, kind of hard love. His parents wouldn't know the kind heart and soft person under the brick wall that Snafu had built around himself. It was hard to see past the grizzled exterior.

"I'm a good old Southern boy, too, Gene. I know how to behave." Still, he grinned, impish.

"Fine." He kept walking, entering the dining room.

His parents stood, seeing that Eugene has brought the expected guest. "Mother, Father, this is Merriell Shelton, we served together." He does his best to sound even and unbothered, but he can sense the distress in his voice. 

"Mr. Shelton!" His father crosses the room to shake Snafu's hand. He takes the wine and sets it on the table first. "Wonderful to meet you, we've wanted to meet Eugene's friends for quite some time, but you boys are spread out all over the country." 

The smile stayed on Snafu's face, less playful now, seemingly genuine. Eugene watched from his designated chair at the table. "Yes sir, Dr. Sledge." 

His father looks at the wine. "What a choice, it'll go wonderful with the meal. And what lovely flowers." 

"They're for Mrs. Sledge."

"Of course!" He takes the flowers from Snafu, and hands them across the table to Mary. The flowers are pretty enough, Gerbera daisies, a small burst of colors in one's hand. Mary is polite and smells them, but her smile is weak and forced, and Eugene knows that she hates the flowers. They're tacky, predictable. Better not to have brought flowers at all. 

"Thank you, Mr. Shelton," she says. "Please, sit." 

He does, and then Eugene does, and everyone bows their head for grace. Eugene stares at his plate, waiting for the food to be served. 

"Mr. Shelton," his father begins, "what brings you back our way? It says in the paper that you're from Louisiana."

"Yes, sir. I, uh, the house. I came into some money, I remembered the house. I needed a change of scenery."

"The house," his mother clucks. "That place is a death trap. Why on earth would you come all this way for it?"

"He fixed it up, Mary," Edward said, "you read the paper." 

"Eugene'd tell me stories about it. Where he played as a kid." He eyes Eugene across the table. "When I saw it, I knew I could make it nice."   
"Hmm." She opens the wine and pours for herself. 

His father ignores her snide remark and immediately starts questioning Snafu. Little things about where he's from, the work on the house, a few carefully-worded inquiries about the war. They don't ask Eugene much about the war either.

Justina comes out to serve the food and smiles at Snafu. 

Eugene pushes the food around on his plate, separating it like a child. Carrots in one pile, chicken in the other, none of it touching. He listens, clenching his jaw all the while. His father seems quite pleased with their guest, probing him with the usual polite conversation. Where are you from, originally? Who are your parents? Are you married? That question causes Eugene to freeze and he finally looks up from his plate.

Snafu sits across from him, looking positively picturesque under the light of the chandelier, his bronze skin, his wild hair. Those eyes which never quite settle between blue or green. He has the glass of wine in his hand and he’s staring at Eugene. His stare was always relentless, making Eugene feel like he was a rabbit caught in the path of a wolf. Even now, as Eugene stares back, the hair on his neck sticks up and he feels a squeeze in his chest. 

“No, sir,” Snafu answers his father. “No ladies interested in a rough grunt like me.” He takes on a smile before taking a sip. 

“Hmm.” Mary cuts into her meat. 

“Well, maybe she just wasn’t at home,” Edward says. “If you’re staying up here a while, you just might meet her.”

Snafu still smiles and nods. “Yes, sir, maybe.” 

The conversation continues. Eugene and his mother remain silent. They’re very alike, he realizes. Sitting in the background, letting their anger stew and fester. He wants dinner to be over so he can walk Snafu out of the house and out of his life. How dare he just show up in his hometown, buy a house and fix it up, and then pop up in the paper?

Eugene drinks more wine than he eats food, making him lightheaded and unabashed; he starts to laugh at a joke his father tells, and then at Snafu as he explains how he fell off a ladder trying to rework the shudders. 

“You weren’t meant to be on ladders,” Eugene says, shaking his head. 

“Maybe I should’a had you come around then.”

“Maybe.” 

Justina brings dessert and coffee. By this time, Eugene is feeling warm and sated, less angry, almost like they are back at the beginning. He could close his eyes and go back to those nights in the fox hole eating canned meat and crackers, or eating chow with the rest of the fellas in a big crowded room stationed in Peking. Even with everyone around them, it often felt like it was just the two of them.

Eugene opens his eyes and looks across the table again. Snafu is laughing, looking young, well. By the end of the war, they were both too skinny, almost sickly. At every meal, Eugene would watch Snafu shovel food into his mouth like a toddler. Now it was almost like there hadn’t been a war at all. 

That thought scares Eugene and he straightens himself up in his chair. He glances at his dinner plate, still full, and the slice of cake he hasn’t touched. Justina comes to clear the table and sets a warm hand on his shoulder. Sometimes she was more of a mother than his own. “Are you alright, Gene?” she asks.

“It was good, really. I’m just not…” He vaguely gestures.

She nods and moves that warm hand to his neck before taking his plates. She understood better than his parents did when he came back from the war and wouldn’t eat. “I’ll cover it up for you.”

As Justina clears the table, Edward winds down the conversation. Something calm, a good note to end the evening on. “What do you plan on doing with the house?” he asks. “Now that it’s finished.”

Snafu wipes his mouth and shifts in the chair. “Thinkin’ about selling it. I’ve had a lot of offers.” 

“It’s a beautiful piece of property,” Edward continues. “Eugene and the neighborhood kids played up there all the time. Right by the river.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Snafu says. “I’ll be sorry to see it go.”

Eugene’s happy feeling starts to churn. That was supposed to be their house, and he was just going to sell it? But, he’s still tipsy enough to stay quiet. 

“You’ll have to come by again,” Edward says as they all stand to bid Snafu goodbye. “As long as you’re in town. I know that Eugene could use the company.”

Eugene sends a disappointing look towards his father which goes unnoticed as Edward reaches over to shake Snafu’s hand. “It was a pleasure to meet Gene’s family.”

“Hm, yes, Mr. Shelton,” Mary says. “Please, call on us again. Excuse me.” She makes a quick getaway from the table, leaving Eugene confused. He always thought that his mother would dislike Snafu, but he’d been a shining example of Southern hospitality this evening, shined up clean as a new penny. 

“I’ll see you out,” Eugene grumbles, leading Snafu back towards the foyer. He’s feeling lightheaded again, almost brave. By the time they reach the front door, there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s going to say, but it doesn’t come out. They just stand there regarding each other like grade school kids. Eugene stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“I mean it,” Snafu says, “I liked meeting your parents.”

“Sure.” He shuffles his feet against the hardwood floor. 

Snafu takes a step forward and Eugene panics, a rabbit caught by the fox. “If you want...if you’d like to see the place--”

“That was supposed to be our house,” Eugene snaps. He drops his voice to a whisper. “That was supposed to be for us after the war. You let me prattle on about it, like an idiot. And you just show up here and...and now you’re just going to get rid of it?”

Snafu nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “I did it for you. Buildin’ it back up. Fixin’ everything. It was all for you.”

His breath catches again, and he’s fairly certain that his murmur will grow back. “But you got off the train,” he whispers. 

“I did,” Snafu agrees. “And it was a fucking mistake.” He steps forward again and Eugene thinks he’s about to be kissed. But Snafu continues speaking, never caring about the boundaries of personal space. “Please, come by and see it tomorrow. Then we won’t have to see each other again, alright?” His blue-green eyes glisten darkly in the dim light of the foyer. 

“Fine,” Eugene agrees, reaching past him to get to the doorknob. He’s leaning close, feeling that familiar warmth rolling off Snafu’s body, and inhaling an almost forgotten scent. He practically jumps back to avoid them touching. “I’ll be by in the morning.” 

Snafu walks by him, dragging his hand across Eugene’s arm. “I’m up with the sun. Like the good old days.” He takes on that grin. 

They stare at each other again. Eugene could have filmed an entire movie filled with moments like this. One of them silently pleading with the other, staring across a crowded room or from fox holes. “Well, goodnight.” Eugene clears his throat.

Snafu digs in his pockets and pulls out a cigarette. “Night, Gene.” He lights it and turns around, ambling down the porch stairs. Eugene watches him walk to the car, loading himself in, and then driving away. 

Eugene lets out a long-held breath and closes the door.

-

After his parents retire for the night, Eugene digs through his father’s liquor cabinet until he finds the good whiskey. He pours himself a full glass, drinks, and then pours another, coughing at the harshness of it burning down his throat. He hasn’t drowned his sorrows in alcohol in some time; too many nightmares. But the events of the evening have his mind swirling, his chest aching, it’s almost like when he first came home. 

As he lies on his bed, he drums up a memory of a seedy motel in Peking, sprawled out on the bed, naked, head resting against Snafu’s thigh. They were covered in sweat and come, completely blissed out; Snafu was running his fingers through Eugene’s matted hair while they shared a cigarette. 

I was thinkin’, Eugene said.

Snafu snorted. Uh oh.

Eugene grinned. There’s this house in my hometown. We used to play in it as kids. No one’s lived there for years, but it’s by the water, it’s got a wraparound porch. Lots of animals around. I’d like to live there.

House by the water is nice.

I always wanted to fix it up.

Snafu chuckled. Your pretty hands working a hammer and saw?

Eugene reached over to pinch at Snafu’s side, eliciting a giggle. I know how to build stuff. He took a drag from the cigarette. Maybe it could be a place for us to go. 

There was a beat of silence and Eugene started to panic. It was stupid to bring up the house, to talk about life after the war. They’d never discussed what they were going to do together, where they would go. 

But Snafu reached down, pressing a large hand over Eugene’s chest, right at his heart. Surely, he was able to feel it beating like a hummingbird. That sounds great, Gene. Just you and me, maybe some cats.

The relief was instant and soothing, like a balm. Eugene couldn’t imagine being happier than in that moment. And he never was.

Eugene pulls his pillow over his head. He hasn’t allowed himself to think about Snafu, not even the good times. What was the point? He hates himself for being naive, for thinking that fucking equaled love, even though they had said it to each other. It was the war, they were young, they were scared. 

He tosses and turns most of the night, either not being able to sleep, or having those drunk dreams that are both terrifying and confusing. When he wakes, he’s sweating and panting. There is no peaceful rest for him that night.

In the morning, he drags himself to the shower and stands under the spray, still thinking and commiserating. He doesn’t owe Snafu a goddamn thing. He shouldn’t care about the house, the work that he’d done, the fact that Snafu is there at all. That single thought seems to flip a switch in his mind. It doesn’t matter. He learned to live without Snafu just fine. He went to school, he has a career, he was able to fuck other people. 

This new revelation changes his attitude completely. There is vigor in his scrubbing and washing, he whistles as he gets dressed, and has a smile on his face when he gets downstairs for coffee and some toast. 

“You’re looking a lot happier today,” Justina says as she scrambles some eggs. 

Eugene sits in the breakfast nook and shrugs. “I slept well.”

“Hmm.” She turns off the burner and moves the skillet to the back. “You seemed on edge when your friend visited.”

Justina could always read him better than his parents could. He shifts his weight and stirs sugar into the coffee. “The war,” he stumbles. “Um, we went through some really bad stuff together. Seeing him was harder than I thought it was going to be.” 

“Hm,” she says again, shorter. “You’re going to see him again today?”

The coffee is too hot, but Eugene takes a large gulp. “To the house. You know we used to play up there as a kid.”

“That’s right. I’m surprised none of you ever broke your necks.” She chuckles, seemingly playing his childhood over in her mind. She goes about her morning routine, cleaning up after her cooking, and readying plates for his parents.

Eugene finishes his meal and drink, gives Justina a kiss on the cheek, and runs upstairs to brush his teeth and hair. He looks himself up and down in the hall mirror a few times. Sometimes he doesn’t recognize himself sometimes. 

“I’m heading out,” he calls, coming down the stairs. His mother is waiting for him in the foyer, startling him. “Momma.”

Her eyebrows are raised and hands folded in front of her stomach; she’s ready to have a conversation, a serious one at that. “You’re going out so early?”

He tries to sidestep her, but she’s steadfast in her stance. “Yeah, just thought I’d get it out of the way.” 

“Your friend is...interesting.”

“Mother, I have to get going.” He’s ready to run past her like a racehorse. 

She purses her lips and releases her hands. “Of course.” She pulls on that tight smile before stepping aside, seemingly letting him out of the gates. As he pulls on his shoes and makes his way out the door, he can still feel her staring at him.

The house isn’t too far from his parents’. The weather is pleasant; cool and partly cloudy, though he can sense the storms on the wind. Dark clouds gather to the east, and the humidity is high. 

He hasn’t been out this way since before the war. He wonders how the house will look. Surely, the picture couldn’t do it justice, just as grainy Snafu’s face. He cuts through the woods behind Town Hall, taking a well-worn path. Nothing has grown back since he was young; it’s the same, twisted trail, lumped with rocks and thick tree roots. 

By the time he reaches the house, he’s left behind town and the main road. He comes out from the thicket and stops, his breath caught in his throat. The house has been renovated from top to bottom and shines bright white, with dark green shutters. The porch wraps around from the front to the back and is already cluttered with potted plants and wicker furniture.

Out front sits a beat-up car, in need of a paint job and new tires. Snafu stands under its hood, dungarees hanging loose around his waist, white t-shirt sticking to his body with sweat from the day’s heat.

Eugene swallows a thick lump, remembering how well he used to know that body. If he’d pull up the shirt, he’d find the constellation of moles scattered over Snafu’s back, a fist-sized birthmark in the shape of a rock by his hip, bones of his spine like pearls on a string. Eugene closes his eyes, inhaling the breeze. Summertime air, honeysuckle and cut grass, a hint of tobacco smoke. He opens his eyes and starts walking towards the driveway, working on schooling his face into something indistinguishable. 

Snafu must hear him, because as soon as Eugene stands a few feet away, Snafu lifts from the car, a smirk on his face, cigarette stuck in his lips. “Wasn’t sure if you’d come by.” 

Eugene shrugs and kicks at some gravel by his feet. “Didn’t have much planned for the day.” He shifts his weight as he shifts his gaze from the car to the house. “Didn’t think it’d look this nice.”

Snafu snorts and exhales smoke through his nose before taking the cigarette to tip the ash. “They put me in the paper. You didn’t think it’d look nice enough?”

Another shrug and he takes a step closer to the house. “Grainy picture.”

“Yeah.” Snafu takes a drag and wipes his brow. “Small. Not front-page news.”

Eugene chews on his bottom lip, stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You do the inside, too?”

“Sure did. Wasn’t too bad, but I had to hire some help for the upstairs.”

“Hmm.” He nods, trying to be polite. Inwardly, he’s dying to see how it looks now. Did Snafu follow Eugene’s daydream blueprints? A window that faced the river where he could draw and write, a den with a giant fireplace, a breakfast nook facing the back so he could see deer in the morning. “And it’s done?”

Snafu takes one last drag of the cigarette before flicking into the dirt and stomping it with his shoe. “Just a few little things. Could sell it as-is if I wanted.”

Eugene’s heart skipped. “Are you gonna sell it?”

Snafu shrugs and takes a step closer to Eugene. “Thinkin’ about it. But I kinda like it around here.” Eugene takes a step back.

“Well, show me around.” Defiantly, he stuffs his hands in his pockets. _Let’s get this over with._

Snafu nods and rubs his face with a rag hanging over the car. His whole body is shimmering with sweat and he smells like musk and the cut grass. “Wanna see the porch first?” He starts to walk up the hill to the house and doesn’t wait for Eugene’s answer; Eugene just follows, almost dreading getting closer. 

He and Sid used to have races up and down the hill and then around the porch until Sid got his foot stuck in between planks and busted open his knee almost to the bone. There’d been so much blood, it had made Eugene sick.

“Goes around to the back,” Snafu narrates, gesturing. He walks by a swing that matches the wood of the porch.

Eugene is surprised at how solid it feels under his feet. He even gives it a little jolt, testing his weight. The wood is sanded and treated, a deep brown that looks antique. “The whole way?” He touches the swing as they pass and it sways with the movement. 

Snafu keeps walking. “To the back door. East side of the house doesn’t have the space for it.” 

Potted plants line the edge of the porch; brightly colored flowers, cherry tomato plants tied to a thin stick, plants that look like weeds, and then a pot with a small hydrangea blooming pink. “Deer don’t eat the plants?” He bends to touch the petals of the hydrangea, picturing giant bushes up by the front door.

Snafu stops to lean against a post. “Naw. There some crabapple trees in the back. Keeps them pretty satisfied. I’ll throw ‘em scraps sometimes.”

Eugene grins, standing back up. “Ain’t supposed to feed the wildlife.”

“I like watching them. Nice and quiet.” 

They hold that intense eye contact for a minute, and in that minute, it feels like the first time Snafu looked at him without bearing his teeth. Nothing but the humid air between them, so thick and delicious Eugene could eat it. The sun on this side of the house gives Snafu an angelic glow, the curls in his hair starting to frizz from the heat. The anger in Eugene’s heart is starting to crack, but he holds onto it.

“I wanna show you something, out back,” Snafu says and turns as quick as a dancer, stepping off the porch and to a different worn path cutting through the grass.

Eugene follows, almost on Snafu’s heels. They walk yards away from the house and into the trees. On the grass are crabapple remains, fermenting in the sun, sending up a sickly sweet smell. Eugene sees the deer hoof prints in the mud and wants to see the little herd that calls this spot home. 

Snafu doesn’t walk far until there’s a small opening, free of trees and brush. A small lean-to has been set up against a large magnolia tree, with a bench and a desk built into it. The magnolia flowers and leaves litter the area like confetti. “You like writing outside, right?”

Eugene loses his breath, but nods. He steps closer to the desk and the bench. It’s rustic, like someone who’s been abandoned in the woods would have made it. Very Thoreau, very Whitman. “You did this for me?”

“I told you, I did the whole thing for you.”

“But--”

“I shouldn’t’ve left you alone on the train.”

Eugene looks up to Snafu’s eyes. “So you built me a house?”

He kind of grins and shrugs. “It’s yours if you want it.”

A million things go running through Eugene’s head. It’s what he wanted, it’s not what he expected. For so long, he’d told himself that he’d moved on. Every time he kissed another man or went to bed with a stranger. Every flirtation, every touch was a path to bricking himself back together again. But here he is, standing not more than a foot away from his first love, on the property he’d always dreamed of owning. Snafu is offering him the house, the land, almost everything. 

Somehow, Eugene finds his breath and he takes it, preparing to speak. “Snaf,” he begins, unsure of where to go next. 

Suddenly, he’s saved by a booming clap of thunder and a downpour of heavy rain. They both start laughing. It all seems so...silly. The years lost between them, Snafu being here in the first place. 

“Come on, I got some towels inside,” Snafu calls and they head back towards the house. The rain soaks them through the bone and Eugene finds himself laughing, deep from his belly. He hasn't been this happy since…

"Why didn't you write to me?" he yells over the roar of the rain.

Snafu slams the roof of the car shut. "What?"

"You said that you were sorry about the train, you, you just said I could have the house. But...you didn't write to me. I waited and waited and you didn't...you didn't do anything." He shrugs, angry, sad, everything he'd been holding back for years. "It wasn't over for me."

Snafu steps closer, eyes wide, bewildered. "I wrote to you for a year. A whole year."

Maybe Eugene isn't hearing things right. Maybe he's only hearing what he wants to hear. "You wrote to me?"

Another step. The rain comes down harder and Eugene thinks that they'll be swept away. "I wrote three-hundred-and-sixty-four letters. I mighta fucked up, but it wasn't over. It still isn't over." 

Right when the lightning strikes and a bigger gush of water comes down, Snafu takes Eugene by the collar and pulls him into a searing kiss. It's everything that Eugene wants and remembers. He feels it from his lips, down to his toes as he kisses back. 

They end up in the house, THEIR house, pushing and pulling at each other, at their clothes. Snafu is fiery and rips open Eugene's shirt and the buttons go flying all over the hard-wood floor. Eugene laughs into Snafu's mouth. 

"I always wanted to do that," Snafu chuckles, raking his nails down Eugene's ribs. 

"You're lucky I can sew." He kisses Snafu on the chin and then on the lips, pressing their bodies together. Despite the water, Snafu feels warm, solid. Up the stairs, they leave their clothes, a sopping wet trail of fabric. By the time they reach the bedroom, Eugene is down to his boxer shorts, Snafu naked. "I missed you."

"I'm sorry," Snafu says again, pushing Eugene onto the bed. 

It's familiar, it's wonderful, Snafu hovering over him again, the smell of his hair, his skin. "You really wrote to me?" he asks, running a hand through Snafu's thick hair.

Snafu leans into the touch and then turns his head to kiss Eugene's palm. "'Course I did." He kisses up Eugene's arm to his throat, biting down on the soft skin. Eugene keens, arching his back off the mattress, pressing as best he can against Snafu's body. "There we go," Snafu whispers before biting down again.

Eugene snatches Snafu by the hips, holding on tight. "I want you," he says. 

"Me too," he answers like Eugene asked a stupid question. Eugene goes to say something else--his mind is a rush of thoughts--but Snafu shuts him up with a deep and filthy kiss and Eugene forgets everything else.

Afterward, Snafu gets them a towel to clean off a bit, then lights a cigarette for them to share. It's reminiscent of their time in Peking, except now, they don't have to hurry up and dress, or worry about someone bursting through the door. Eugene lies on his back, glancing out the window to watch the rain. "This is exactly where I wanted the window." He gestures. "Sun sets on this side over the river."

"Yeah, it's real pretty." Snafu sits up, leaning against the headboard. 

Eugene sighs with content before turning back to look at Snafu. "Can I stay the night?"

"'Course." He takes the cigarette from Eugene. "Can stay longer than that if you like."

In a few hours, it doesn't take them long to fall into a pattern of domesticity. It feels like they've been doing this their whole lives. Snafu makes them turkey sandwiches and they eat on the backside of the wrap around porch, staring at the geese on the lake. The rain stopped, the sun peeks out from the clouds and the treeline as it sets. "This is what I always wanted," Eugene says. 

“A good fuck and a sandwich?” Snafu chuckles and pops open a bottle of beer.

Eugene rolls his eyes. “You’re terrible.” He snatches the bottle from Snafu and drinks; it’s cold and the bubbles burn his throat and tongue. He watches the geese swim together and honk, bats start to dive over the water for their breakfast. “If this is really for me, I wanna stay here. With you.” He watches Snafu for a reaction.

Snafu stares at the lake and swallows thickly, twitching his nose. “I never thought you’d say yes.” He takes another sip of beer. 

“Well.” Eugene raises his eyebrows and tugs on the bottle; Snafu holds it tighter, a challenge, that stupid smirk on his face. Eugene moves closer and distracts Snafu with a kiss to get the bottle back. “I’m sayin’ yes.”

*

“Hey, Gene,” Snafu whispers against Eugene’s neck with a kiss. Eugene groans in response, pushing his head into his pillow.

“It’s early,” he slurs.

Snafu chuckles. “Yeah. Sun’s just comin’ up.” Another kiss just under his ear. “I gotta run into town for some stuff. I’ll be back around lunch.”

“Yeah.” He yawns and peers out of the pillow just enough to see Snafu leaning over him, already dressed, hair slicked back. “Pick up some pickles.”

Another laugh, then a kiss on the back of Eugene's neck and Snafu gets up from the bed and shuffles out of the room. Eugene rolls and stretches the width of the mattress, still warm from Snafu’s body. He sighs contently, still bleary and half asleep. 

No nightmares, no hours of insomnia and drinking. Eugene rolls back into his pillow, hiding from the sun. The windows face the lake, like he’d wanted. It’s all set like he wanted. The wood floors, the color of the wallpaper, the office facing the woods to watch the deer. The thought of the deer has Eugene popping up from the bed, taking the top sheet to drape around his shoulders as he makes his way to the office.

There are bookshelves built into the walls, and a large desk chair pushed in the corner, but no desk yet. At the bay window is a set of bench chairs attached to the wall, mismatched throw pillows tossed around for cushioning. Eugene eases himself down in front of the window, eyes focusing on those crabapple trees. He rests his chin on his hand, waiting.

Sure enough, a buck comes out of the trees, his head up high, surveying the yard. He’s followed by a few does, another buck, and three fawns. The fawns dive for the apples, while the does and bucks mull over the fruit a little more discerningly. 

Eugene falls asleep watching them, and when he wakes up later, they’re gone. His back aches and he groans as he gets up. He thinks about going right back to bed and wait for Snafu, maybe even tease himself for Sanfu's return, but as he hits the doorway of the bedroom, there’s a knock at the front door. Eugene looks around as if someone else is going to answer. As he waits, there’s a second and third knock. 

He’s not even thinking when he answers the door, just in his boxer shorts and that sheet over his shoulders. Maybe Snafu forgot his key, or maybe it’s someone selling something; he’s nearly knocked onto his feet when he finds his mother on the other side of the door.

“Momma.” He clears his throat and tightens the sheet around his body. “Um...what brings you out here?”

There’s an expression on her face that he can’t quite read, and that makes his stomach sink and twist unpleasantly. She looks him up and down, from his bare feet to his tousled hair, then over his shoulder, as if Snafu would be standing there. Her eyes settle back on his as she licks his lips. “You and I need to have a talk.”

“Okay.” He’s not sure what to do, so he closes the door and steps onto the porch, gesturing to the wicker chairs to his right. They each take a seat, staring at one other. Eugene works to cover himself with the sheet while she’s twisting her hands together. He’s never seen her this uncomfortable, but then again, she’s never caught him in just his shorts. “What...what do you want to say?”

She looks past him towards the lake; he hears the geese honking at each other and gliding across the water. “I knew...I’d always known that there was something different about you, Eugene.” She tries to smile as her eyes settle back on him. “Something that I couldn’t quite fix.”

Eugene stiffens, straightening his back. “I don’t need to be fixed.” He’d wrestled with that for a long time. Before the war, during the war, after. Even alone, he knew what he was and knew that he was made that way.

She shakes her head. A stand of dark hair falls from its perfectly coiffed braid. “No, you don’t. But for a long time, I thought that you did.” She begins to rummage in her purse and pulls out a thick stack of letters, held together with twine.

Eugene stares at that bundle. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five, it looks like, aged and unopened. His stomach twists in a different direction, his whole body flushing red, and tears springing to his eyes. His mouth drops open. “Mother.” 

“I knew it was more than just the war.” Her voice waivers, like on a string. “A mother knows. And when I saw the first one...I knew that he was the one that hurt you.”

Eugene doesn’t know what to say. He’s furious and relieved at the same time. A tear rolls down his cheek. “I love him,” he says. Simple. The truth.

“I know.” She nods and sets the letters on the table that sits between them. “I’m sorry that I prolonged your separation.” She takes a deep breath and stands, gathering her purse. She touches the letters before kissing Eugene on the top of the head. Time stands still; for him, for her, he assumes, as she smells his hair and touches the sides of his face. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He’s too shocked to say anything, or to stand when she walks away. He just sits there and watches her get into the car. She’s crying by the time she puts the key in the ignition. Deep down, he knows that he should run after her, but that anger and bitterness in his heart keeps him seated and he just stares as she pulls out of the driveway.

The geese start to make a ruckus, splashing about the water, crows caw and fly over head, in the distance he hears cars on the road. He doesn’t know what to do with himself just yet. The letters loom, begging for his attention.

He’s holding his breath as he reaches over and undoes the twine, picking up the top envelope. Sure enough, Snafu’s sloppy, chicken scratch handwriting covers the paper. It’s addressed to Eugene Sledge, ℅ Dr. Sledge. 

_Sledge,  
I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. When I saw you asleep in the car, I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t mess up your chance at a good life. Look at how you were when I wasn’t around. But it’s killing me. I’m dying every day and I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll fix it. Please. Please let me come home._

Eugene's heart breaks with each letter. Some of them are drunken confessions like the first one, cavalcades of apologies and promises. Some of them, he waxes on about the war, about life, asks how Eugene is doing. His soul is spilled out on the papers in Eugene’s hands. If Eugene had gotten even one of these, he would have run the whole way down to Louisiana. 

A car comes up the driveway, pulling Eugene away from the letters. Snafu parks in the grass and climbs out, a paper bag in one hand, jar in the other. “Got your damn pickles,” he announces, then smirks when he sees Eugene. “Careful, Gene, you’ll drive the neighborhood boys crazy dressed like that.” 

Eugene does his best to smile. Snafu comes up and sits in the other chair. “Whatcha reading?”

“My mother stopped by,” he answers. He puts the stack of letters back on the table. Snafu’s grin runs from his face and his eyes grow wide. “She kept them from me.” 

“All of them?”  
He nods. “I would’ve...fuck, I would’ve been…” He doesn’t have the right words.

Snafu leans across the table, reaching for Eugene’s hand. “That doesn’t matter now.”

“But, we could’ve been together,” he says, quietly.

“You already said yes.” He kisses the back of Eugene’s hand and lets go, leaning back into his chair. “All that...it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Eugene takes a deep breath and gathers the letters back together, tying them in a neat stack. “I’m going to go take a shower,” he decides.

That smirk comes back onto Snafu’s face. “Want some company?”

They turn the shower on high, steam filling the stall and room. Snafu presses Eugene against the cold tiles, mouth gliding over his neck and collarbones. Eugene threads his fingers through Snafu’s hair as Snafu moves down his body. Over the ribs and hips, nose pressed into the hair of his groin. 

“Don’t leave again,” Eugene finds himself asking, his mind blurred with pleasure. 

“I’m busy,” Snafu says with a chuckle.

Eugene looks down, hand curling to cup Snafu’s chin, making him look up. “I’m serious.” He runs his thumb over Snafu’s lip.

Snafu stands, almost shielding Eugene from the spray of the shower head. “I ain’t going anywhere. You don’t have to worry.”

He snorts. “I worry about everything.”

Snafu kisses him on the mouth, tasting like shower water and cigarettes. “Not about this. Now, are you gonna let me suck you off?” He gives that wicked smirk and clucks his tongue. 

“I mean...you were in the middle of something.”

Afterwards, boneless and full of bliss, they lay out on the bed, the letters spread between them. “You didn’t wonder why I wasn’t answering you?” Eugene asks.

Snafu lights a cigarette and shrugs. “Just figured you were still mad.”  
“I was.” He picks up one of the letters.

_Gene,  
I’m sitting on the dock down the way from my momma’s house. Fireflies light up the swamp, making it look like a long, glittering city. The cicadas sing so loud I can hardly hear myself think. I can’t stand the silence anymore, though. Makes me think that I’m waiting for a mortar shell or an ambush. The bugs let me know that I’m here, that I’m home. I wonder a lot about how you’re doing or what you’re doing. I think about that playhouse you told me about, down by the river. I bet that looks real nice this time of year, and you don’t have to worry about the gators. I hope that you’re sleeping well; I sure ain’t._

Eugene runs his fingers along the creases on the paper, and over the crossed-out words and spelling mistakes. “You really have gators in the swamp?”

Snafu chuckles. “Yeah. They ain’t that bad. Long as they’re fed.” He exhales the smoke directly towards the ceiling fan, whirring slowly. “You don’t have to read these.”

“I want to.” He starts to gather the envelopes, putting them in order. Some of the letters are longer than the others. It was a way to know the part of Snafu he didn’t get to see.

“What are you gonna do about your momma?” he asks casually, dangling a foot off the mattress.

Now Eugene shrugs. “I dunno. I’m upset, but she’s my mom.”

Snafu nods. “Don’t hold it against her. Maybe we needed the time apart.”

“Don’t say that.”

Snafu takes the stack away from Eugene and sets it on the bedside table. “It is what it is, Gene. Can’t change it. Ain’t worth punishing your momma.” He shifts on the mattress until he’s laying down, head in the pillow. 

Eugene sits painfully still, legs crossed. “You’re very zen about this whole thing.”

He grins and offers Eugene his cigarette. “Fixin’ a house gives you a lot’a time to think about what’s important. I don’t have time to be mad at her. Neither should you.” 

Eugene inhales the cigarette, watching the cherry burn. He makes circles with the smoke as he exhales. “I guess you’re right.”

They spend the rest of the morning painting the last of the rooms and making a grocery list. Eugene makes notes to pick up boxes for packing. There are already books on the shelves in the study, surprising him.

“I know how to read,” Snafu says as Eugene checks the titles.

Eugene snorts. “I know that. I just didn’t know we liked the same things.” Walt Whitman, Hemingway, Steinback. You can learn so much but so little about someone during wartime. So much slips through the cracks. 

They go back onto the porch to watch geese and goslings near the water and drink a few more beers. “They come back every year.” Snafu gestures to the water. “Flock gets bigger and bigger.”

“The deer, too?”

He shrugs. “They just started this year. I’m hoping.” 

After the sun sets, the yard is aglow with fireflies, blinking yellow and green. Eugene inhales the deep humid air of summer, smelling the grass and the lake water. Snafu drags him inside for food, promising for a good meal once they make it to the store. For now, it’s sandwiches and Coke. 

Eugene sits on a stool, watching Snafu wash the dishes. He imagines this moment for years to come. He thinks about a family, Snafu’s family, and maybe even his own. Snafu starts to whistle a tune from the radio and Eugene makes a decision. He gets up from his stool and passes by Snafu at the sink, giving a quick kiss on the neck before reaching the phone.

“What are you doing?” Snafu asks, barely breaking his concentration.

“Making time.” Eugene dials and waits until Mary answers the phone. “Momma? How’d you and Father like to come over for dinner?”

**Author's Note:**

> As noted, I stole some scenes from the Notebook; props to Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams for that hot in the rain kiss.


End file.
